Propain Man
by Teenage Mexican Master Chief
Summary: Hank has one rough day too many and finally snaps.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters blah blah blah. Are these even necessary anymore?

A frustrated sigh came from Hank as he put on his glasses, having slept through his alarm. There wouldn't be any time to take a shower he realized irritably. He quickly threw his wrinkled uniform on and rushed into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. "Morning Peg-leg." He said tiredly as he fumbled with a coffee cup. "Good morning, Hank. If you don't hurry you're going to be late." She chirped as she put a plate in the dish drainer. A little too cheery for his liking. He brushed it off and went to pour creamer in his coffee when Peggy dropped the pan she was washing, startling him into dumping out a fourth of the contents of the creamer, splashing coffee on his shirt at the same time. "Dammit!" He exclaimed in an even worse mood.

With no time to change he fled out to his truck and jumped in. He threw it in reverse, his sleep deprived brain sent him into a panic when he ran over something with a thump. Fear was replaced with anger when he saw it was just his jack. He would have to deal with that later. Hank sped off to work. He turned on the radio, flipping from station to station, unsatisfied that they all seemed to play some form of pop music.

While he was fiddling with the radio he failed to yield to the speed limit. Red and blue lights shone in his rear view mirror, catching his attention quickly. "Dammit, what now?" He groaned as he pulled over and rolled his window down. He tapped the steering wheel impatiently as the officer still hadn't gotten out of their patrol car. Hank huffed as he tapped harder on the wheel.

The officer finally got out and approached Hank's rolled down window. "How can I help you officer?" Hank asked with thinly veiled annoyance. "Do you know how fast you were going, son?" The officer who couldn't be a day over 25 asked. Hank's expression faltered for a moment, _who was he calling son?_ "Uh I was going the speed limit, sir." Hank said, wanting the officer to just hurry the hell up. "Oh really? I have news for you, you were going 5 over. I'm going to need to see you license and registration please." He stated, an almost smug look on his face. Hank stared blankly at him momentarily before grabbing said items and handing them over. "There is a 3 mile per hour allowance, sir." He said, trying to hold a respectful tone. "The speed limit is in place for a reason." The cop said, totally ignoring Hank. "Can't you let me off with a warning?" Hank pressed. "A warning?" He asked incredulously before heading back to his car to process his info.

"Got dang it." Hank muttered under his breath. He glanced at the time and groaned, he was going to be incredibly late. The minutes ticked by slowly. He suddenly remembered his untouched coffee sitting on the counter. "Dang it!" He muttered softly in defeat, now stuck with the crappy decaf at work.

The officer came back with Hank's papers and took his time with writing the ticket. "What are you in such a hurry for, _boy?_ " He asked in a slow southern drawl. "I'm late for work, just give me my ticket please." Hank snapped irritably. "Leave earlier next time." He said, already bored with Hank as he handed him his papers and ticket. Hank snatched his stuff back and threw it in the passenger seat. He purposely drove one mile per hour under the speed limit the rest of the way to work. Getting pulled over for 2 mph over was ridiculous, he should have asked for that officer's badge number. He shook his head and got out of the truck and rushed inside to clock in.

"You got something on your shirt." Snickered one of his coworkers. Hank rolled his eyes and sat at his desk. Mr. Strickland stumbled into Hank's office, taking in his disheveled appearance. "Mr. Strickland-" Hank nearly shouted in surprise. "I don't want to know what happened, just get yourself cleaned up." Mr. Strickland slurred before he left to return to his office. Hank clenched his jaw and did just that, scowling in disgust when he noticed a dirty pink thong crumpled in the corner. He shuddered and quickly left the bathroom. He sat back down in his office chair, hoping to get a little paperwork done before he had to go on a gas run.

Hank groaned when he found a few documents filled out incorrectly. Of course, he seemed to be the only one to give damn about the importance of paperwork. It was beginning to look like another day stuck at the office. He hoped a few customers would stop by to lighten the mood. He loved showing off their propane and propane accessories; and making sales of course.

Intrusive thoughts of the discarded pink thong clouded his mind. A soft growl left his lips. The loud snapping of gum and banter of his coworkers, more like co-irkers at the moment, grated against his ears. He could barely focus on the document in front of him. He needed a cigarette stat.

Thankfully there was a pack of cigs just laying on the table in the break room. He grabbed a small matchbook from his desk and went out back. Finally, a little peace. He lit up his cancer stick and relished the familiar taste of the smoke. It had been too long since he felt even remotely relaxed. The nicotine was doing its job. Hank leaned against the building, his eyes closed. That damn pink thong intruded his thoughts again, killing the mood slightly. What was it that made it haunt him so? He shook his head with a heavy sigh. It was just too much some days.

He finished his suicide stick and headed back inside on a mission. With a paper towel in hand he carefully picked up the filthy thong and went back outside, making sure he wasn't followed. Hank fumbled with a match as it seemed to be a little livelier than a funeral parlor on the other side of the door. Shaking his head again he got back to the task at hand. Burning that dang thong. Once it finally caught on fire, he felt something inside of him snap. As the flames danced across his glasses he felt more alive than he had in years. He was done taking shit, from this thong, from his disappoint of a son, and from this town.


	2. Chapter 2

The Texan sun blazed down on the inhabitants below. Hank took a long satisfying draw on his cancer stick, savoring the taste of addiction. Some good ol' honky tonk blared from his radio as he drove around in search of his first target. A frequented old trap house sprang to mind as he passed through a rundown neighborhood. The residents there seemed to stop and stare as he drove by, which irritated Hank further. This wouldn't do as they now know what he drives and what he roughly looks like. He threw out his still lit cigarette butt and turned out of that shithole. Time for a new area all together and a less obvious vehicle. He made a mental note to ask Bill about possibly borrowing his car later.

Hank lit up another cig. This town was going to hell. The liberals were getting braver, littering the town with their protests. His jaw clenched when he saw yet another obnoxious poster. Donning his MAGA hat he pulled over. Oh, how he wanted to burn the filth assaulting his eyes. Instead he settled for just taking it down and tossing it in a nearby trashcan. Dissatisfaction filled him when he buckled his seat belt. How anticlimactic.

His burning rage spurned him on to plan something bigger. The trap house came back to mind. He might be able to pull it off if he was careful enough. Who would miss it except for a few druggies? Hell, they might even think it burned down by one of them or a rival dealer. A devious grin played across his face.

Somewhat satisfied with his half-baked plan he made one more stop, at the liquor store, before finally heading home. He pulled into the driveway, carelessly running over Bobby's bike that was in the way. Smoke furled out of the truck cabin when he opened the door, whiskey in hand. The guys were already in the alley. Hank swaggered on over and took a swig of his whiskey. "Yup." He said dully.

"You're later than usual today, Hank." Bill said as he scratched his gut. Hank just shrugged and bummed another cancer stick off Dale. Bill sighed and stared at his beer. Boomhauer casually commented on Hank's new smoking habit, eyeing the bottle of whiskey in his hand. Hank shrugged it off. "Once you pick it up you never really quit, you know." He said. They fell into their usual routine, though the rest were a little thrown off from Hank's attitude.

"Yup"  
"Yep"  
"Mhm"  
"Yup"

They stood out there for quite some time. Hank getting more and more smashed as time went on. His rage bubbling to the surface again. "Dad!" Bobby shouted as he ran out to the alley. "Dad you ran over my bike!" He shouted in disbelief. "Don't leave it in the way then dipshit." Hank snapped, flicking the ashes off the end of his cancer stick. "Can you move your truck or something?" Bobby asked, his hands on top his head. Hank grumbled and stumbled his way over to the truck. "My truck better not be fucked up, boy." He snarled as he flopped into the driver seat and slammed the door in Bobby's face. Hank threw the truck in reverse and backed up before running over the bike again. He did this a few more times before allowing Bobby to retrieve his ruined bike. Hank managed to park and fall out of the truck. Bobby stood there with tears in his eyes as he stared at his bike. "What the hell dad?" Bobby squealed, balling his fists. Hank stared at Bobby's twisted face for a moment. "Don't leave your shit in the way. Go annoy your mother." He slurred irritably. Bobby dragged his bike into the garage and left it there to go bitch to Joseph.

Hank shook his head and stumbled inside his house. Peggy immediately greeted him, wielding a pan full of eggshells for some reason. "You're home late and are you…drunk?" She gasped. "So, what if I am?" He slurred, pushing past her, not in the mood for her bullshit. She stood there gob smacked. Hank plopped into his chair and put the game on. Peggy decided to hide in the kitchen in hopes of avoiding being the object of his wrath.

He shouted drunkenly at the TV, spilling a little whiskey as he waved his hands around. Before the game was over Hank was passed out. The forgotten whiskey lay on the floor, its contents making a decent size stain on the carpet. Dreams of burning liberals danced in his head as he snored.


	3. Chapter 3

Hank groaned and flinched away from the light streaming through the curtains. A cigarette already in his mouth as he pried himself out of the recliner. Stale urine assaulted his nose. He had apparently pissed himself sometime after he passed out. He lit the cancer stick to mask the stench trailing him.

The last time he pissed himself it was in some thot that was in his senior class a few nights before his wedding. Hank left a trail of clothes to his room. A quick shower later he was in his pimp suit with Bill's spare car key in his hand. Bill was waiting outside with an armful of the stuff Hank asked him to buy. Hank popped the trunk and motioned for Bill to put the items there. "Hey Hank, what did you want this stuff for again?" Bill asked as he pulled up his sagging jeans.

Hank patted Bill's flakey shoulder. "Don't worry about that, just make sure you keep the receipt." He said and blew cigarette smoke in Bill's face as he got into his car. "Mind if I come with?" Bill asked as he drummed his fingers together. Hank thought about it for a moment. "Get in then." Hank said as he started the car. Bill farted as he fell into the passenger seat. "It was the seat." He lied as he put his seat belt on. Hank rolled his eyes and put on his favorite alt right ultra conservative radio show. "Have you listened to this guy? He knows what he's talking about." Hank said irritably, pumped up for the task at hand. Bill nodded "Mhm those damn liberals." He said, leery of Hank's unusual demeanor.

Hank chain smoked half the pack when Bill rolled down the window. This irritated Hank, he rolled the window back up and locked it. "You're letting all the smoke out fatass." He hissed. Bill shrank back in his seat.

"Here put this on." Hank shoved pantie hose in Bill's chest. Bill eyed it in confusion. "Hank I don't think it will fit…" He said. "On your head." Hank snapped as he passed another person. Bill began to protest but complied as he withered under Hank's glare.

Hank fished the ski mask from the back seat, nearly going in the ditch. "Jesus Hank! Be careful!" Bill yelped. He rolled his eyes and put on the mask. "You're going to go in with me and muscle anyone that gets in my way. Make sure they put the money and goods in that bag." Hank said as he placed a glock in Bill's lap. "What the hell Hank?! I don't want no part of this." Bill said as put the gun in the floorboard. "You wanted to come along, you're helping." Hank barked venomously.

"We're almost there. At least act like you have a pair of balls." Hank said as he lit yet another cig. Bill whined and pulled out his phone. "Don't even think about it." Hank said as he snatched Bill's phone and threw it in the backseat.

"We're taking back Arlen from these crackheads and liberals, Bill. After we get the money, we're torching the place." Hank said excitedly. "Is that why you had me pick up that stuff?" Bill asked in shock. "Yup." Hank said, popping the p. "Hank let's turn around and talk about this. Its not too late." Bill suggested nervously. "Talking is for sissy losers." Hank snarled as he parked the car. "New plan, you're going to go in and get the money and whatever else you can get your hands on. I'll be taking care of things out here." He said as he put on a pair of gloves. "You fuck this up I will personally put a cap in your fat ass, Bill." Hank said as he got out. Bill obeyed when Hank pointed his glock in his face.

Hank got to work rigging up crude explosives while shouts could be heard inside. He finished up quickly and poured gasoline up to his explosives, making a trail to the car. Bill ran out with the bag and a large muscular man on his heels. A gun shot rang out, crimson sprayed the car door, Bill fell into the car. Hank threw his lit cigarette on the gas and hopped into the car. A large explosion rocked the car and shattered its windows. The body of the man was sent flying. Hank threw it into gear and gunned it out of there. "Did you get the money?" Hank asked a few tense moments later, brushing some of the glass off. Bill groaned as he clutched his shoulder. "Damn it, Bill you've been shot." Hank shouted, exasperated. Bill gave him a no shit look. "I need to go the hospital, Hank." Bill moaned. "No, no hospital. I'll fix you up when we get back to your place." Hank said as he put on some country music. The explosion was exhilarating, the kind of excitement he needed, judging by the boner concealed in his pants.

"There were women and children in there, Hank, we should call 911." Bill said, trying to get his phone from the backseat. "NO! No cops, none of that. They shouldn't have been there and if you squeal, I'll make bacon out of you." Hank threatened, pushing Bill back into his seat. "They didn't deserve to die!" Bill shouted. "Oh, now you grow a pair!" Hank snarled and slammed on the brakes. He looked Bill dead in the eyes "Those libs are what's wrong with Arlen. It's a cleansing. Your cut ought to ease your conscious too." He said before continuing back to Bill's house.

The rest of the ride was silent. They were both thankful when the ride was over. Hank grabbed the duffel bag and inspected its contents. He frowned at what he saw. There was a few grand at best. Hank grabbed a fistful of bills and shoved them into Bills bloody hands. "You squeal and we'll both fry, you don't want that do you?" Hank hissed as he helped Bill out of the car. Bill gulped.

Hank inspected Bill's shoulder. It was just a graze. "Damn son, you are lucky, it was just a graze." He said as he slapped some gauze and tape on it. "Just get some rest and lay low for a while." Hank said as he was on his way out the door already. He grabbed Bill's playboy off his coffee table before going out the door.

Hank relaxed a little when he walked through his front door. He kicked off his shoes while still counting the money. He grabbed a beer and plopped down in his den. Pleased that there was more money than he initially thought, totaling to $5,120. He took a hundred-dollar bill and unzipped his pants, he flipped to a plump tiddy bitch in the playboy and wrapped the bill around his dick and went to town.

His first mission was successful and if anyone had to take the fall it would probably be Bill. It was self defense really, he had to protect his beloved town from the filth since no one else was.


End file.
